


Haunted by Time

by russianwinter013



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Brother/Brother Incest, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Disturbing Themes, Extreme Gore, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Twisted Romance, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russianwinter013/pseuds/russianwinter013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long after a gruesome war that has left humanity clinging to the edge of life, only a few remain. Sanity is stretched thin, and horrors are ever present. All sane reasoning is nothing but a fragment of the memory of the universe. Storms and darkness lie in wait, and only the strongest will survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> The brainchild of a section of my Creative Writing exam from my freshman year of high school. Enjoy.
> 
> Heed the tags. One of my darkest works.

_"Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym." Stephen King_

... ... ...

The world stood, bathed in its perpetual grief and pain. Horrific screams, ones that were not as loud but still held the agony only a being tortured endlessly would have, echoed throughout the deepest and darkest corners of the universe standing silently around it. Fire and ash rose from the battered remnants of the atmosphere, and toxins were ever present.

It had been months since the fighting had started. Months that seemed so much longer. I guess if humans lived on for centuries, then that would be the case for this and how slow time was moving now. 

The sky was dark, the sun a dying ember barely illuminating the diseased world beneath it.

I sat upon the battered rocks, the hot material burning through my worn and tattered cloak. The ash coated air swirled around me; the thick acrid taste of smoke covered my tongue in a rough and coarse embrace. The fire roared around me, a beast at bay merely waiting for the chance to pounce and tear into my flesh like the insignificant insect it believed I was. The decaying, bloodstained bodies were strewn across the field, broken and bruised, frayed and crumbling like decade-old tombstones eroded by harsh weather and the relentless hand of Time. Decomposing flesh hung in tattered strips from the shattered remains of bones; the ghostly and jagged remains of each individual crumbling bone peered out from beneath the flimsy veil the slimy remnants of torn muscle provided. The stench that emanated from the carcasses was oh so horrible; the ever-present aroma of burning and charred flesh and boiling blood whisked through the moaning wind.

The ground was stained with an endless cloak of overwhelming terror. The slightest glance towards the decimated field would render the mind immobile from the fiery beast of fear that would dig its claws deep into the metaphorical flesh of the mind of its host. There would be no way out should the signs of infection show. The ailing being would have no remnant of hope.

My thoughts were drifting. My memories were hazy; I remember when they had been better, easier to recall, once a part of a field of high-quality perception able to sense the slightest anomaly in my systems. My mind is fragmented now; my memories are corrupted, stained and muddied, obstructed by the clouds of misery and pain and death and sadistic desire.

The laugh that escaped me was one of pure insanity. Oh yes, I remember when I had sanity. That seemed like it was such a long time ago that I can barely recall it. Ah, no...must not let my thoughts stray from the rickety old train track.

Wait...the memory I had been trying to catch but had evaded me: this gory battlefield had once been a playground for little children. Yes, I remember...complete with the sticky plastic of the bobbing toy ponies and dragons skimming through the sand, accompanied by the screaming children as their older relatives pushed them high into the sky to make them believe they were on top of the world—this decimated field had been that. It was hard to imagine that this bloody haunted battlefield had been a place where innocent—no, they were not innocent; no one was innocent—children had played.

The gore-crusted wind continued to swirl around me. How could I have grown so accustomed to the thick scent of scalding blood and flesh? I was so used to it that I waited for it every day; as if it were a signal I waited for that moment where I could sample the delicious taste brewing in the poisoned air. But now, with the gore and violence that surrounded any being that had been powerful or lucky enough to survive the war that had ravaged the entirety of the monster that had been known as Earth...what else was there to wait for? Everything else was dead and dying. They were all delicious corpses.

Hidden deep in the mesmerizing horror around me, there was a sound, so faint it was as if a mouse had whispered. It gnawed at my ears, just at the edge of my enhanced hearing. Something was coming towards me, moving with hesitant and light steps. Those steps were oh so faint, so soft—but predatory, in a strange sort of way. My mouth widened into a vicious grin. _No surprises today..._

My dagger slipped out of its sheath, the icy curved metal welcome in the palm of my hand. Long and piercing nails, comparable to the talons of a carnivorous monster, slid against the slick and poisoned surface of the icy metal. The wind screamed at me, taunting what I was about to do with a slimy and deceitful forked tongue. The steps faltered as my cloak hood flew off, uncovering a long mane of thick and unruly black hair, tangles cascading in monstrous curls down the curve of my back. My teeth were exposed now, dangerous points capable of tearing through the toughest of flesh and sharpened only through my time stranded in the empty world, the time before I had found the others and created our small band of refugees.

An overwhelming scent poured over me, and a hungered almost pained groan escaped me as a bout of violent tremors threatened to race through my lean and toned body. A hiss of morbid anticipation escaped my lips, a demented sound that tore through the thick blanket silence had cloaked the diseased world with.

_Oh, yes. The prey was moving ever so closer—so close..._

_Just a little closer, my precious prey..._

I moved with inhuman speed, pinning the unwelcome visitor to the rock that had served as my perch. Teeth bared and eyes narrow, my arm pressed into their throat, cutting off all air. I growled, leaning close as my hair spilled over my shoulders like a curtain of dark ominous silk.

Two narrow, blazing tawny eyes glared up at me. The lashes that framed them were thick and long, yet all feminine aspects were crushed by the sharp-boned features of the man's face.  Bronze skin gleamed in the diseased light, marred only by the gruesome jagged scar that scored across most of his right cheek and turned the skin eerie silver similar to the fine strands of a spider's web. Thin lips were pulled back, revealing long and pure white teeth that reflected the sun and nearly blinded me.

"Enough, Makilin." The man sighed, shifting beneath me as my weight increased. Muscles rippled beneath powerful arms as tendons and joints audibly shifted and cracked. The wind laughed, playing in his dark messy hair and making it wave like a child greeting a friend.

I only snarled in response, narrowing my eyes even further. Crimson boiled in the depths of hell, and manic beasts roared with a fury nowhere near comparable to the dark and demented recesses of my own mind.

He shifted, brushing something ice-hard and cold against my skin. A rumble came from deep within my chest as a cruel grin curled back my scarred lips. Oh, no, my precious prey. No escape for you tonight.

I leaned close, hair roaring wildly around me and my grip on his neck tightening. _No, no, no. My prey, all mine, all mine._

A sharp pain lanced through my neck, directly through the main circulatory veins. An acid like substance carved its way through me, and I moaned and tossed my head like a beast in agony. Hissing in pain, I reared back and realized too late that I had let him free. No, I could not—would not—let him escape. He was my prey—my delicious food—oh, how I needed the sustenance...

Making to lunge at him, the attempt was short-lived as vertigo overwhelmed me and nausea rose deep in my stomach. I gasped, wrapping my arms around my middle, bile rising in the back of my throat as I forced my stomach to stay where it was. The prey, the food—it was getting away. No, it was not—I could not let it escape. Stay, please. Please, stay with me.

_"Makilin!"_

The world came crashing back violently, an unrelenting storm pounding against all available parts of my body. My legs buckled, but I was steadied by two hands, one considerably colder than the other, and braced against a broad and heated chest. A shudder ran through me; I could feel and smell the oh so delicious blood that flowed through the man's veins. My hunger rose with a violent fervor, and I moaned and swayed.

Something warm and wet trickled down my side, aggravating one of the many wounds that resided there. A ruthless fist curled itself around my lungs and my slow-beating heart, and I coughed hoarsely, weakly, scolding myself for showing such pathetic and disgusting weakness.

"It's okay. You're okay." The man whispered soothingly, pulling my hair back from my face. Long, thin-boned fingers glanced over my sweat-slicked skin. "Everything is okay." With one strong arm he steadied me, and with the other he pulled a syringe from my neck. A thin trickle of dark blood followed, and my head swam with the liquid so close to me. No, no, no.  I couldn't—I needed it—

I trembled and gasped, forcing my breathing to return to normal. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not any more than I already was," he replied, absentmindedly fingering the bruises appearing on his neck. I looked down at him, concerned. He noticed my stare and scowled. "Makilin, I am fine. There is nothing to worry about."

 _Except your health_ went unsaid. We both knew it was deteriorating rapidly, and only rest and meditation improved it.

"Why are you here, Aiath?"

He shifted the light gleaming off of his refined metal hand. "There has been a...misunderstanding at the trade and checkpoint. A fight had broken out."

I hissed lowly, my eyes narrowing as I attempted to stand on my own. "What happened?"

Aiath shrugged, but his grip did not loosen. "It is unclear. They have our men gunned down."

Shock hit me like a punch to the gut. "Gunned down?" I pushed him away a bit too roughly, as he nearly fell but caught himself before he did so. "What do you mean?" My voice was cold and inflectionless.

"The dispute occurred about two hours ago. There is a man who wishes to speak with you and you only." Aiath seemed to be half listening to what he was saying and his orange eyes were unfocused.

"Very well. I will see what I can do." I turned and made to walk away, but before I could pain erupted throughout me. I groaned quietly, swaying on my feet. The daggers of the ache tore through me, making every breath a burden. The world swam before me, hazy and murky like the world beneath a dirtied body of water. Aiath was there instantly to steady me, his reassuring grip stilling the tremors racking through my body.

"Makilin, you are in no condition to fight. You need to rest," he murmured. "The rest of us can handle it." Almost imperceptibly, his hand wandered down to rest on the small of my back, and he pulled me closer to him, warm breath fluttering against the cool and slick skin of my neck.

I shook my head. "If..." I had to pause and collect the little breath left in me. "If my snipers...could not handle this...what makes you think you will?"

Aiath sighed deep in his chest, the noise rumbling through me. "We were trained by you, not some fat oaf who merely called himself General."

I drew in a ragged breath. "Take me to them." He made to protest, but my glare destroyed whatever was about to come out of his mouth. _"Now."_

Aiath let out a deep breath. "Fine." He continued to steady me as he led us to the check and trade point.


	2. Lies

_“Give me just enough information so that I can lie convincingly.” Stephen King_

* * *

 

The world was screaming—and it was oh so satisfying.

The broken, sickly wind fought with the raging fire that crept its way over the scorched land. The heady aroma of death slithered through the fragmented seams of reality.

One could say that such a horrific sight would stain the soul with so much fear that it would shrivel and curl in on itself, but the warzone only made his soul swell with pride and amusement.

Hefting his gun over his shoulder, a deep breath escaped him. The sound of the weak and defenseless men merely calling themselves soldiers improved his mood by a thousand fold. Whoever had trained these fools had clearly had no experience in military protocol, training, or tactics. You were supposed to break them first, down to nothing but a withered, hopeless, and weak shell of a man, and then you rebuilt them from scratch, crafting them into the cruel and heartless war machines they were supposed to be…an instrument and servant merely waiting for the command to tear into enemies and leave nothing behind.

A smirk appeared on his face. His foot connected with a wounded man on the ground, planting itself firmly against his chest, hearing and feeling his rattling and hoarse bloodstained breaths. The man had been shot repeatedly in the chest and side, yet none of the poisoned bullets had pierced his heart. Large pieces of shrapnel had embedded themselves into the skin, sinking deep and slicing through main circulatory veins. Locked in a battle filled with eternal yet brief suffering and torment, the insides would merely shrivel and die from lack of blood flow. Large, bloodshot blue eyes stared up at him, pleading for some kind of assistance, knowing it would be futile but having some kind of godforsaken, damned hope anyway.

This man would not even make it if he tried.

The heavy military boot pressed down. With a sickening crunch, bones were crushed mercilessly. Blood poured from the agape mouth and wounds, so hot it could be felt through the thick leather. The man’s eyes rolled back and in a matter of moments, he was gone.

With a satisfied grunt, the killer wiped the sole of his shoe on the charred ground. Footsteps crunching through the scorched bodies and land, he made his way over to the large transport vehicles that served as part of his escort.

A man stood to order the surrounding men with a deep, powerful voice, standing with his feet planted wide in the traditional military stance. The fading sun illuminated the horror-stricken land, revealing the man’s face. Beady black eyes gleamed almost impishly through the shadows cloaking his face. Thin, cracked lips were set in a scowl that was so deep it seemed to be etched into his face. Crow’s feet were patterned around the tiny eyes, making them seem even smaller. The irritated disposition of the man did not change as the killer approached him.

“Ah, Valentino!” the man grunted in a thick Spanish accent. “We have what we came for. The trucks are full and ready for transport. All of the commodities are prepped and ready.”

Valentino smirked coldly. “Are they, now?” With a movement so swift it was as if he had not changed positions at all, he had the smaller man pinned to the nearest truck with a dull thud.

“What are you doing?” the other demanded, struggling to escape and failing rather miserably.

Valentino sneered. “‘All of the commodities prepped and ready’?” With a vicious tug, he tore the other’s shirt open, revealing a military-grade gun strapped haphazardly—as if it were secured in a hurry—in a holster.

Recognizing the larger man’s rapidly darkening mood, the smaller man spluttered and scrambled for words he knew would please the other in some sort of way. “I-It was only a small taking, s-sir. Y-You remember what happened to my own weapon, d-don’t you?”

Valentino narrowed his eyes. “That was a result of your dimwitted foolishness. I know and understand your greed, Esperanzo. But what I do not understand,” he continued, increasing the pressure on the other’s throat, “Is why you thought it okay to steal from me.”

Esperanzo gasped, trembling in the iron grip securing him. “W-Would I not be more valuable to you with a weapon, able to defend myself, than without? W-What good is a lieutenant if he is not armed and ready for battle?”

The taller man sighed, rolling his dark eyes. “You were never ‘ready for battle’, my dear Esperanzo. You were only ready to usurp me by any means necessary, including assassination.”

The Hispanic man shook his head frantically. “No, no, of course not; I am ready to defend you. You are the best leader among us. You have had the most military and leadership experience, and no one would dare be a fool to challenge you.”

Valentino’s cold gaze fixed on other, piercing him to his very core. “You are lucky I need you…for the moment.” Abruptly pulling back, the man released the other and left, leaving him staring.

* * *

_“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.” Stephen King_

* * *

 

When we arrived at the post, unadulterated horror greeted us with a dark grin. It waved in the wind, as content as a child receiving sweets of some sort.

A snarl tore from my chest and I inadvertently increased my pain. Holding back my rage I scanned the area. There seemed to be no survivors, but…there…that faint and broken breath.

“Over there,” I hissed to Aiath, nodding in the direction of the sound. He nodded, shifting his weight to better carry me, and followed my direction.

Sviatoslav, one of the men who had immigrated to the United States with me after I had left Russia, sat leaning heavily against the jagged remnants of a wooden post. He was holding a hand over a wound in his stomach, dark fluids pouring out from beneath it. His breaths were ragged and his eyes were dim with the light of the near-dead. He seemed to be staring into space and did not notice our arrival.

“Put me down,” I ordered Aiath, who somehow found it in him to not protest. I forced all vertigo and fatigue away and approached the former Russian soldier.

“Sviatoslav.” I spoke quietly and my throat was dry, making my voice cracked and hoarse.

The once vibrant icy gray eyes shifted, landing on me. In an instant, they widened and he tried to move futilely.

“No, stay where you are.” Even in my weakened state, and even though Sviatoslav had been a higher ranking official than me when I had first arrived in his hometown, something in my tone made him automatically stop. “Tell me what happened.” My ice-cold hand trailed over his heated one; I was uncaring of the thick blood streaming over my own.

Full, cracked lips moved, yet no audible words escaped that horrid cavern of a mouth. But then I realized that he was speaking and was not able to do so any louder.

 _“Ambush…”_ A cough rattled throughout his beaten chest and beads of blood streamed from the corner of his mouth.

Rage bristled within me, its sharp hackles raised. “Who?” I gently shook his uninjured shoulder. “Sviatoslav, who did it?”

The man shuddered, moaning in pain. _“Spasateli…Valentino.”_   He gasped, broken chest heaving and the charred skin crackling. _“Took…everything. Be…careful…”_ Before I could get another word out of him, his body went limp.

Baring my teeth at his corpse, I rose, my sickness put on hold so my full fury could be released like a god waiting to unleash its wrath upon the disrespectful and ungrateful beings beneath it. Aiath was there immediately, and he made to help me, but one dark look from me ceased all of his efforts. I moved past him to glare at the war zone, taking in any and all details that would help me identify the murderers. I recognized even more of my soldiers—Jake, Avalon, Maria, Nikita, Korra, Yuri, Ruslav and his brother Ruslan—and it made my wrath fester and boil.

“Makilin?”

Aiath was awaiting orders.

With a deep sigh, I came to my decision.

“Put him out of his misery.”

The roar of his rifle echoed in my ears.

_I will have my revenge **.**_


	3. Dark

_“Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.” Stephen King_

* * *

 

Valentino paced the rocky road, metal toed boots crushing the pathetic gravel beneath them. He was becoming impatient, more than he already was. He had scheduled a meeting with this group of survivors’ leader, a man by the name of Makilin Andrei. By the sound of it—at least, if the murmured words of the camp refugees were anything to go by; they were known to spout lies just to see a fight and acquire some measly entertainment—Makilin was cold, cruel, and ruthless. He took no insubordination, and Valentino’s scarred escort—one of the camp’s guards—had even told him a tale in which Makilin had publicly executed a soldier who had disobeyed his orders on the field to retrieve a fallen teammate.

Finally fed up with waiting, Valentino turned to the guard of the small camp. “Where is he?” he growled, deep and menacing.

The guard was not perturbed. “Makilin is nearly here. There is no need to cause a ruckus.”

“I will not be kept waiting! I am a man of much importance!”

The guard’s eyes flashed with building irritation. “Importance is not of high significance here. You will wait for Makilin and you will follow whatever orders are given.”

His companion, a slightly shorter man with a bulky upper torso and short arms, nodded vigorously. “If you want a piece of advice, I would not get on Makilin’s bad side if I were you. Death literally _leaks_ from the hands of our commanding officer. It will not hesitate to embrace you in its cold grasp.”

Valentino scoffed. “Your leader is not death reincarnated.”

A deep and rumbling voice sounded. “I suppose you will be the judge of that?”

He turned. A tall man loped towards the men, power rippling through his broad and lean frame. What surprised Valentino, however, was that he was carrying a rather tall woman, one who seemed to be taller than him. Her head was braced against his powerful chest, and slanted almond shaped eyes were shut against the obvious pain she was in. Long and thick black hair flowed behind her, as well as a tattered and slightly shredded cloak. Blood stained her menacing knee-high boots, dripping in steady streams down to the ground, and the fluid covered her limp hands as well.

“Are you Makilin?” Valentino demanded harshly, tossing his hair from his face in clear arrogance.

The man slowed his pace as he neared them. Up close, his bronze skin gleamed almost unnaturally, and the gruesome scar that marred his face stood out harshly. Golden eyes blazed through the depths of his dark and wild hair and fixed onto the impatiently waiting man standing before him.

“You clearly are dumber than you look,” the golden man hissed in an irritated and weary voice. With a slight nudge, he woke the woman slumbering in his arms. With a quiet groan, her eyes fluttered open. Valentino was surprised, only marginally, at the deep red color of her eyes.

“Makilin, there is someone here to speak to you.” The man leaned close and whispered in her ear, lips brushing her dark cheek.

Valentino was shocked. “ _This_ is Makilin? This weak, sickly woman? I can’t believe this!”

Makilin’s eyes shot open fully, and the vicious growl that sounded from her made him hesitate slightly. “Put me down, Aiath. _Now_.” The icy and detached voice that came from her only added to his suspicion that this woman was not normal.

The golden man, Aiath, gently set the taller woman on her feet, steadying her as she swayed. With an irritated groan, she pushed him away and approached Valentino, who held his ground, not intimidated in the slightest. The guards, in his peripheral vision, moved back slightly, as if her rage was something to be _scared_ of.

“I do not know who you think you are,” she hissed in a low and menacing, albeit slightly hoarse, voice, “But coming into my territory and showing complete vulgarity to my men is something I do _not_ tolerate.” A dagger was suddenly in her grasp, and her crimson eyes blazed. “If you continue to disrespect me, you can turn around and leave right now or risk being decapitated.”

He was not impressed with such a second-rate display of so-called intimidation. “I am Valentino Nikitvo Yaroslav II. I am the head of the Russian-based survivor rescue group known as the _Spasateli.”_

Her eyes widened and Aiath stiffened. The snarl of pure rage that erupted from her was unexpected.

“You,” she hissed, teeth bared. _“It was you!”_

She lunged and made to attack, ruby eyes blazing with unrestrained hatred and insanity, before Aiath and the guards rushed to hold her back. All the while, she kept fighting them like some rabid animal, complete with the thrashing and the snarling.

“Great. Your leader is insane. Anything else you want to add to the list?” Valentino crossed his arms, now extremely annoyed.

Makilin snarled, glaring at the black-clad man. “You were the one who killed them! You killed Sviatoslav!” Tears began to stream down her face as she cursed at him in her native tongue, over and over again, repeating the same words each time.

 _How does she know?_ Valentino wondered silently. He crossed his arms and an irritated look crossed his face. “What does she mean by that? We only come with goods and supplies to trade.” He motioned with the trucks rumbling contentedly behind him.

“In exchange for what?” Aiath hissed in a strained voice, muscles bulging as he held the crying Makilin in his arms, murmuring soothing words to her beneath his breath.

“We only ask for food, water, and shelter—nothing more, nothing less.” He turned abruptly and shouted to his lieutenant. “Esperanzo!”

The small and bulky man immediately came at his commander’s call. “Yes, sir?”

“Explain to them what our purpose is here.” Valentino took a slight step back, letting his second in command have the spotlight for a brief moment.

“We are a search-and-rescue group, ironically named the _Spasateli,_ formed by our charming Mr. Yaroslav. We are dedicated to helping what remains of humanity thrive by supplying fresh food, water, and supplies. We hold what remains of the vaccinations created for worldwide diseases, and for those we do not currently possess or have the means of formulating we make up with our specially-trained doctors. We currently have commodities to trade, things such as fuel, food, water, and salt. We pose no threat and only wish for shelter. We have roamed the open land for quite some time.”

The enraged woman hissed, very much like an animal. “Lies! You present _nothing_ but _lies_!” She struggled to break free but failed in her weakened state. Tears shimmered in her strange eyes. “You killed Sviatoslav!”

“Easy, Makilin,” Aiath murmured, stroking her hair in a futile attempt to calm her. His golden eyes fixed on the Russian man. “What makes you think we will accept you? We go by what Makilin orders, and she clearly does not favor you.”

“Your leader is clearly mentally unstable. She is not worthy enough to lead you.” With a flick of his long coat, Valentino had his weapon exposed and aimed at the fuming woman. “She must be replaced.”

This time, all three of Makilin’s supporters snarled at him, weapons at the ready. The guards came to stand in front of Aiath, and he pushed Makilin behind him.

“You will do no such thing,” Aiath growled, orange eyes burning. “Lower your weapon. Now.”

Valentino merely stared back at him and then suddenly erupted into hearty laughter. “Now, now. No need to panic; I was merely testing your reflexes. Clearly this woman taught you more than I first expected.”

“You doubt her—” the taller of the two guards murmured.

“—and she does not favor you.” his companion finished.  

The first looked at the trembling woman. “Makilin, what will you have us do?”

Surprisingly, the woman stopped crying and froze, tilting her head. A predatory hunger blazed in her eyes and she straightened, all traces of enraged grief vanishing. Her lips widened into a vicious grin, and her tongue flicked slowly over her exposed sharp teeth.

“You will do nothing,” the woman hissed. Valentino was shocked by the woman’s sudden mood change. Perhaps she was severely bipolar? Yet he continued to listen as she began to circle them like a beast at bay.

“Arkady, Arsenio,” she said. “Take them to the prison cells.”

The roars of the guards’ guns echoed as Valentino’s men were gunned down.

* * *

_“…terror, when you come home and notice everything you own had been taken away and replaced by an exact substitute. It’s when the lights go out and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear but when you turn around, there’s nothing there…” Stephen King_

* * *

 

The cold was everywhere. It filled me to the bone, making me shiver despite the heat enveloping my body. I was becoming worse; there was no doubt about it. My episode earlier only confirmed it.

“Makilin.”

I looked up. Aiath, Arkady, and Arsenio stood in the makeshift doorway of my private quarters. Few people knew, but the three of them were brothers. They rarely saw each other, however, as Aiath were a soldier and my second-in-command and the others were constant guards I would trust with my life.

Aiath’s blazing golden eyes carved their way into me as he came over and helped me stand from my crouch against the cold stone wall. He paid no mind to the shivers racking my body, knowing that it was normal when I was in a state like this.

“They are ready for you.”

* * *

 

_"Look into my eyes as I take you into the abyss, and I will show you the dark, vile, perverse secrets that are inside of us both." Unknown_

* * *

 

Arkady moaned as he was slammed against the wall roughly, feeling the cold and unforgiving damp stone beneath him carve vile patterns into the flesh of his back.

Above him, his partner made a sound similar to a snarl and pressed him harder against the wall. Through the darkness, two glowing amber eyes could be seen burning with a perverse sort of fury and lust.

Silence reigned over the two men as they both breathed heavily, chests barely rising and falling with the movements.

War-torn lips crashed into each other, and poisonous tongues embraced in a twisted dance. Heavy groans and breaths escaped both males as they embraced and ground against each other, arousals pressed together as they neared their peak.

"Arsenio..." The restrained man nudged his brother's arm, a wild glint in his orange glare. "Aiath will not be pleased. He can smell us."

The larger male rumbled deeply, shoving his knee between his partner's thighs. The action caused his leg to brush against the hardened arousal of his mate, and Arkady cried out and arched his back, digging his talons deep into the armored flesh of his brother.

Arsenio laughed and dug his teeth into the broad expanse of that beautiful and delicious flesh beneath him, lapping enthusiastically at the boiling blood that poured from the wound.

He bared his teeth in a horrific imitation of a grin as he glared at the writhing and moaning mass that was his Arkady. 

"Let him hear. I want him to know what he is missing out on."

* * *

_“There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell.” Edgar Allen Poe_

* * *

 

Valentino and Esperanzo waited, arms shackled behind their backs. Valentino could not care less about the upcoming events; he had nothing to fear and nothing to lose. Esperanzo, however, was as frightened as a cornered rabbit awaiting the dreaded hunt. He shifted constantly in his uncomfortable excuse for a seat, beady eyes darting.

The door opened. The golden man and two different men entered, followed by the tall and strange woman. Aiath’s eyes blazed unnaturally bright and his muscular scarred arms were crossed over his chest. The gun in his holster was revealed, his coat pulled back to show off the weapon.

Makilin did not look well. She was pale and her eyes were dull, and faint shivers racked her body as she entered the room. Her long hair was mussed, dangling in elongated tangles and peppered with the occasional cobweb or dead leaf. When she saw the two men, however, her troubled expression quickly changed into one of unadulterated fury and despair, as it always did whenever she saw them.

Somehow she had figured out what had happened at the trade point, or, at least, some part of it. But the man Valentino had taken care of had not been as gone as he had thought and had clearly told the woman what had happened, complete with his name and purpose.

There was no doubt that this strange female would not take that event lightly. The deceased man had been close to her, and despite seeming completely emotionless from the outside, it was all too clear to Valentino that she was overcome with unrelenting emotions on the inside.

“State your real purpose here.” The woman circled the two cuffed men, eyes narrow and quiet breaths shallow and slightly hoarse.

“We already told you. We are a rescue group attempting to restore humanity.” Esperanzo, surprisingly, spoke up, meeting the woman’s gaze.

Makilin began to speak, only to hiss softly as pain flashed in her eyes, and Aiath took a step forward only to stop when she shook her head. She fixed her claret eyes on the small man. “That is a lie. You are not rescuers; you are _killers_.”

Valentino laughed. “Oh, come now. Who will believe such a ridiculous story?”

Aiath stepped forward. “I do. I saw Sviatoslav die.”

Valentino pursed his lips. “A mere misunderstanding. He was caught in the crossfire.”

Makilin’s eyes narrowed. “It was clear that he was not. His chest was deliberately crushed, and the imprint of a boot that looks oddly similar to yours was clear on what remained.”

“That is all the evidence you have? Please. You need hard, cold facts.” Valentino narrowed his icy eyes and leaned forward.

Makilin was having none of it. Moving with inhuman speed, she was suddenly behind the bound man, and the telltale coldness of a blade pressed against his throat.

“Oh, my dear Valentino.” The woman purred in a sadistic, sickeningly sweet voice, her breath scented with strong cinnamon and spice. “I will have no more of your lies. You will tell me the truth, and should I sense that you are even telling the _slightest_ lie, both you and your friend here will not make it out of this room in one piece.”

Valentino laughed. “Go ahead. Do what you must. I have nothing to hide.”

He had to admit that the grin that curled the woman’s mouth was rather unsettling. The blade slipped in her hand and carved a path down his throat. He clenched his teeth as fire tore through him; he had not expected a poisoned dagger.

“Very well.” Makilin growled, deep in her chest, as she leaned forward to lick the blood from the cut with an ice-cold tongue. “We will do this _my_ way.”


	4. Vampires

_“Vampires, real vampires, didn’t nibble on the necks of nubile young virgins. They tore people to pieces and sucked the blood out of the chunks.” David Wellington_

* * *

 

He watched his companion pace the room.

“Valentino, what are we going to do? They will not let us go; we are bound in this godforsaken place.”

The larger man crossed his ankles and rolled his eyes. “Enough, Esperanzo. There is nothing this woman can do that I cannot handle. You, on the other hand…”

The small man stopped to stare at him, black eyes glinting in the dim light given off by the dying torches. “You can’t possibly mean—”

Valentino smirked coldly. “I mean exactly what I said. She will come after you first, just to try and break me. It is what all intelligent leaders do.”

Esperanzo opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, at a loss for words as fear gripped his heart in its iron embrace. “She will kill me, won’t she?”

Valentino laughed. “There is no doubt about it.” He shifted, skin peeling beneath his rough and jagged metal manacles. “Now _sit down_. I cannot think with you pacing the room like a nervous wreck.”

Esperanzo hurriedly sat, aware of his leader’s darkening mood. “I cannot help it. I am nervous.”

Valentino sighed. “Do I look like I care?” _Only **you** have things to be worrying about; I am perfectly fine._

“Sorry, sorry.” Instead of pacing, Esperanzo somehow found it in him to rock back in forth in his makeshift chair, the creaking reverberating throughout the room.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and a deep voice rumbled throughout it. Both men stiffened, on high alert. As if on cue, the door to their shared cell creaked open. Arkady, Arsenio, and Aiath entered, Aiath in the lead. His golden eyes were narrow and his dark hair was spread in chaotic tangles; his dark and powerful presence filled the room. The two guards were silent, bodies protected by refined armor that were covered with long black cloaks. Their faces were slightly covered in the shadow of their hoods.

“Ah, finally someone shows. I was beginning to think you had forgotten us.” Valentino leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, an infuriating smirk appearing on his face when Aiath only continued to glare at him. “Well? Did you, at least, bring us food and drink?”

Aiath motioned silently with his metal hand, and Arkady set something on the floor and kicked it over. It happened to be a small bowl—perhaps a former container for dog food, one that even had the minutest traces of molded nourishment in it—filled with bits of stale bread and what looked like half a cup of unclean water that was more than likely from a well.

The leader of the _Spasateli_ scowled. “This is what you have to offer us when you look like that? Clearly there _must_ be some better form of food. We are being treated like prisoners!”

Aiath snarled, leaning forward on the table between them. The two restrained men could clearly see the veins and tendons that stood out in the large, long-fingered hands.

“You should be lucky we even feed you at all. Makilin would normally starve her prizes; she seems to have taken some sort strange of liking to you.” The golden man shifted. “I wouldn’t have given you a _thing_ had I been in control.”

“And why are you not? You are more stable than your so-called leader.”

The man transferred his weight from one leg to the other; Valentino noticed the slight stiffness and made a mental note of it. It would be a vital piece of information if he chose to plan an escape.

The table groaned slightly at Aiath’s increased weight. “Stop distracting me; your efforts to make me spill our secrets will not work.”

Valentino’s smirk widened. “Oh? How sure of that are you?”

Aiath’s eyes blazed and suddenly his weapon was in his hand. “Keep talking and you’ll find out.” He stood abruptly, his aura almost too overwhelming in such close distance. His strange eyes darted between the two, lingering on Valentino the longest.

“Arkady, Arsenio, watch them. I need to find Makilin and bring her here to question them.” He headed to the doorway, only to stop and glance over his shoulder with his dark hair covering his eyes. “Pay no attention to what they say, even the little one. All of it is lies.”

With that, he was gone.

* * *

_“I’ll tell you now. That silence almost beat me. It’s the silence that scares me. It’s the blank page on which I can write my own fears. The spirits of the dead have nothing on it. The dead one tried to show me hell, but it was a pale imitation of the horror I can paint on the darkness in a quiet moment.” Mark Lawrence._

* * *

 

Sleep could not claim him, no matter how hard it tried. It had _tried_ to embrace him lovingly, it had _tried_ to reason with him, and it had _tried_ clawing at his skin in some desperate attempt to make him succumb to it. Yet he would not be swayed.

There were several reasons he did not let his body or his mind rest. The first was that he had to stay alert no matter what. Makilin was someone who found and exposed weaknesses; if she even detected the slightest hint of exhaustion she would croon and sneer and him until he finally gave in, which was something he would not do.

He also had to keep an eye on Esperanzo; the Hispanic man had been moved to a separate room for private investigation. He had always doubted the man’s loyalty to him, despite his infuriating pleas for mercy like the unfortunate wretch he was. If Valentino even rested for the slightest of moments, Esperanzo could use that small and measly moment to spill everything to Aiath and Makilin.

The faint thud of footsteps sounded, and he tore himself from his musings immediately, automatically tense and wary. Aiath seemed to be in a rapidly deteriorating mood and his companion seemed to lose her sanity a little more each day. Arkady and Arsenio, the two guards, had taken their commander’s advice and ignored every word he and Esperanzo said, only speaking to snarl at them in a foreign language that Valentino recognized as pure Esperanto. While he only spoke the tiniest bit of Spanish and Latin, it was all too clear that the two cloaked men were telling them to be quiet or suffer the consequences.

The footsteps were becoming nearer and nearer and he strained his hearing to pick up the slightest hint of who it might be. Failing rather miserably, all he could do was sit back and wait.

The large metal door creaked as it slid open, grinding and moaning against the thick layers of rust and dust that coated its hinges. A tall and dark figure crept into the room silently.

It was Makilin.

“What do you want now?” he sighed, forcing his fatigue away and replacing it with an air of ennui.

Makilin said nothing, her silence draped around her like a thick cloak of darkness. She shut the door behind her, enveloping them in cold shadows. The sound of a match lighting, and then a small lantern was lit, illuminating the woman’s face.

The sight was horrifying.

Her hair hung in tangles around her hollow cheeks. Thick cobwebs were embedded into the thick black forest, startlingly white against its darker background. Shadows flickered over her face, yet her dark crimson eyes blazed insanely bright. Her lips were as full and as red they had been, the only pure beautiful feature of her; pulled back slightly, they exposed her abnormally sharp teeth, her supposed fangs gleaming in the dim light.

Quashing his horror, he stared coldly at her. “What do you want?”

She said nothing, only continuing to stare.

Slightly unnerved, he continued, speaking in a voice stained with irritation. “Your methods will not make me tell my secrets. I have been through the harshest training with the Russian government.”

Thin tongue tracing razor teeth, Makilin only leaned forward. What was even stranger was that her eyes did not reflect the light; they seemed to absorb it, somehow making them even darker.

Finally, after silence screamed its wrath to the diseased world, she spoke three flat words.

“So have I.”

He was shocked. She could only be no younger than twenty, a few years older at the most. How could she have…?

“You used to work for the Russians?” He cursed himself for letting his shock and caution color his voice.

There was no verbal reply, only a low and rumbling snarl. There was only stillness, and for a moment he thought she had left without his knowing.

That is until he felt the ice-cold fingers trailing over his neck.

“What are you doing?” He tried to twist around to see her, but the grip tightened, and long and dangerously sharpened nails slashed into his skin.

He clenched his teeth together as he attempted to nullify his pain. "Get off of me!”

The snarl sounded again, startlingly close, and he dearly wished he could see. Being trapped in a barely lit room with a mentally unstable and sadistic woman was not something he favored. Fire tore through his veins as the sudden jab of an icy blade plunged into his arm. He clenched his teeth enough to make them protest, but he managed to hold back his screams. It only seemed to infuriate and interest the woman even more, and her wintry breaths chilled the heated skin of his neck as she leaned close as whispered one word.

_“Solnstevskaya.”_

She vanished before he could even think of forming a reply.


	5. Rewards

 

_“Blood is really warm, like drinking hot chocolate, but with more screaming.” Ryan Mecum_

* * *

 

He stood outside the cell, back to the cool and damp stone and eyes closed. He had been in that position for quite some time, a few hours, if he recalled correctly. Still, time really held no more significance anymore; the waves of radiation from the nuclear bombs that had been dropped _so long ago_ had destroyed any form of time-telling or electronic device.

Faint whispers gnawed at the edges of his hearing, and slowly his eyes opened. Arkady and Arsenio were making their way towards him, their movements in sync as they had been trained to do so. Their cloak hoods were pulled back—a rare sight—exposing their identical faces.

“What are you two doing here? Makilin wanted you to watch the prisoners.” He shifted his weight, wincing inwardly as the joints in his leg seized and stiffened.

“ _Prisoner_ ,” Arkady corrected in a low voice.

“She has moved the other,” his brother finished.

Aiath paused to consider his leader’s decision. “She intends to pry the information out of the small one?”

Arkady’s grin was sinister.

Arsenio moved closer on feet that were strangely silent, as they were encased in heavy metal. “She wants you to be present and to bring the other with you so he can witness her methods.”

Aiath sighed deeply, stretching his arms and groaning as joints cracked. “Very well. I will gather the prisoner and meet you there.”

“Aiath.” Arsenio’s quiet voice stopped him.

“Yes?”

His younger brother stared at him intently, his dark and emotionless gaze piercing the normally fearless second-in-command. “Fix your leg and present yourself better. You look like death.”

Aiath couldn’t help but smirk. “Noted.”

As he turned and walked away, he could not help but hear the sounds of the twins devouring each other, and his arousal twitched and hardened.

He made a promise to come back and play with them later.

* * *

_“I don’t want to die! Then you should have never been born.” Christopher Dila_

* * *

 

I paced the room. My head was spinning, and a dull ache pounded in the back corners of my mind. I took in deep breaths to calm myself, but the process only increased the stabbing pain in my chest.

I was not nervous. I was… _excited_.

Mere moments away from interrogating Valentino and his comrade, I could not deny or repress the strange giddiness that arose from deep within. Oh, it had been _so_ long since my last questioning…so long since I had had such satisfying entertainment…

Everything swam before me. It was strangely clear yet hazy and filthy yet clean. Such bizarre analogies…oh, I could not _wait._

To feel the beating of their hearts was all I wanted. I yearned for their delectable blood and their sustaining screams as my hands tore through their flesh…such a measly protection, it was.

 _Flesh._ Ha. Nothing but a mere mockery of safeguarding.

The dark, primal urge rose deep within me. Oh, yes…those two were mine, all mine, and _my precious prey_.

**_YES..._ **

* * *

 

**_"I am good for a while. I'll talk more, laugh more. Sleep and eat normally. But then something happens, like a switch turns off somewhere. And all I am left with is the darkness of my mind. But each time it seems like I sink deeper and deeper."_ **

**_... ... ..._ **

* * *

 

_“The sinister, the terrible never deceive; the state in which they leave us is always one of enlightenment. And only this condition of vicious insight allows us a full grasp of the world, all things considered, just as a frigid melancholy grants us full possession of ourselves. We may hide from horror only in the heart of horror.” Thomas Ligotti_

* * *

 

He had first heard it in the dead of the cold night. It jarred him from his emaciated sleep, immediately putting him on high alert.

It was screaming.

Oh so loud, terrified, heart-wrenching screaming.

He was not scared.

He was glad. One of them was getting what they deserved. They had conspired to kill his friend, his teammate.

Oh yes, he deserved what he was currently receiving.

He followed the noises, heart unnervingly still and quiet. His breaths were shallow and hoarse, and his steps were faltering as a result of his seizing leg.

He found her in the prisoner’s cell.

She was crouched over his body, her signature poison blade grasped tightly in her hand. It was buried to the hilt in the man’s chest, but nowhere near his heart. Dark blood poured from the wound, and his agonized screaming had died down to mere pathetic, weak whimpers.

It was then that he realized Makilin was _drinking_ his blood.

Her mouth was attached to the wound, sucking it as her dark throat moved to swallow all of the blood. Trickles escaped, flowing down the sides of her mouth. Sensing him there, she turned.

Her crimson eyes blazed with a demonic light. Her nails were stained darkly and the edges of her cloak were as well. She looked terrifyingly beautiful. His arousal swelled and stood at attention, threatening to break free.

Her tongue traced her bloodstained teeth almost thoughtfully, and she spoke in a deep and quiet voice as her eyes were locked onto his nether regions.

“Would you like some?”

* * *

_“Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we’re opened, we’re red.” Clive Barker_

* * *

 

The broken corpse of Esperanzo laid face-down beside him. He, in all truth, had not expected that. The woman had been ruthless, dragging out the Latino’s death, making him suffer as she enjoyed every moment. There was something, he believed, _seriously_ wrong with her. Her mind was not right; one moment she was crying and distressingly ill, the next she was strong and merciless and emotionless. So strange…

He was sitting, cold and shivering; in an underground jail, Makilin’s camp had somehow created during the war. The woman was coming for him next, of that he was sure, and he was not going to break, no matter if he was locked and tortured endlessly.

She was here now. The gold man was with her. She was even paler than before, and her left foot seemed lame, dragging uselessly at her side. Her crimson eyes blazed, however, as they always did.

They both grinned, exposing razor teeth. Fear gripped his heart in its cold embrace.

“Now…where were we?”

* * *

 

_"I like the darkness. There's something to the feeling of not knowing your surroundings, not seeing the color of things as they appear, but as they truly are. There's something about the unknown, the quiet, the cold. There's something unspoken about the dark, something I can never quite put words to. Something terrifying yet beautiful."_


End file.
